


Only Fools Rush In

by hays_eli



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Pining, Rating May Change, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 18:57:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21451108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hays_eli/pseuds/hays_eli
Summary: For the past ten or so months, you'd been a member of the Scout Regiment, and for three of those months you'd been a member of Squad Mike.The only issue in regards to your position that you could find as of late, was that you'd noticed you had a minor attraction to your Squad Leader. An attraction that was steadily beginning to make you feel flustered everytime he so much as looked or spoke to you.There was really no other way of putting it:You fancied the pants off of Section Commander Mike Zacharias.Title inspired by the song "I Can't Help Falling In Love With You" by Elvis Presley
Relationships: Mike Zacharias & Reader, Mike Zacharias/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 53





	Only Fools Rush In

**Author's Note:**

> I'm unsure how long this story will actually end up - I have a few clear ideas of scenes/events but I haven't really planned too far ahead. We'll see how it goes! 
> 
> There will be smut in future chapters but this will be a slow burn so be prepared for lots of angst and sexual frustration! 
> 
> Enjoy.

Stretching your arms up over your head and leaning back in the very uncomfortable wooden chair you were sitting in, your back cracked in protest, the vertebrae having been in the same hunched over position for far too long.

You yawn quietly and rub the tears from your tired, bleary eyes. Looking back down at the report in front of you, your vision refused to focus on the small, neatly handwritten text. Aware of how sore your eyes had become from squinting in the low light for hours, you glanced up at the clock perched on the wall to your right, only to grimace at finding it was well past midnight.

Huffing, you reluctantly reach out towards your quill resting in its ink pot, pick it up, dabble the excess ink from the tip on the rim of the inkwell, and (whilst trying futilely to ignore the ache and stiffness in your wrist and finger joints) poise your hand to continue writing where you left off, before losing your train of thought and replacing the quill without making so much as a mark. 

“Everything all right?”

You almost visibly jump at the query, Mike's deep yet hushed voice enough to break the well-established peace of the darkened office. 

Readjusting the blanket that had slipped from your shoulders and now gathered awkwardly around the crooks of your elbows, you raised your gaze to look at him, only to find him still diligently scrawling away at his report. 

Wrapping your blanket further around yourself to block out the early February chill that had seeped its way through your clothes, you lean back in your chair once again, sighing in defeat. 

“Just tired,” you mumble, stretching out your legs and attempting to wiggle the life back into your numb toes confined in layers of thick socks and leather boots that failed miserably to keep out the cold.

“I know,” he responds, pausing to replenish his quill with ink, “we'll be finished soon.” His eyes briefly flit across the desk towards you, a ghost of a sympathetic smile dancing across his features in the flickering candlelight.

You make something resembling a groan of disappointment, and let your head fall back with an audible “thunk” against the hard wood of the headrest of your chair, blinking slowly at the lamp adorning the ceiling. 

For the past ten or so months, you'd been a member of the Scout Regiment, and for three of those months you'd been a member of Squad Mike. Despite Mike as well as Commander Erwin himself insisting that your place on Mike's Squad was as a result of your dedication to the scouts' cause, and ability to keep a level head and focused mind in times of trouble, you still couldn't quite grasp the concept that you were part of one of the most elite Squads in the entire military, next to Erwin's own as well as Captain Levi's. 

The only issue in regards to your position that you could find as of late, was that you'd noticed you had a minor attraction to your Squad Leader. An attraction that was steadily beginning to make you feel flustered everytime he so much as looked or spoke to you. You supposed really that you'd always found him attractive (as did many other members of the Corps, you'd soon discovered) but since knowing him on a more personal level, that initial crush you'd had upon seeing him for the first time had bloomed into something deeper set. 

Your gut clenched in utter mortification at how childish you felt admitting to yourself that you had a goddamn crush at your age and point in life. But, alas, there was really no other way of putting it:

You fancied the pants off of Section Commander Mike Zacharias. 

Quite literally.

You instinctively squeeze your legs together, ignoring the swell of arousal that rose up your abdomen.

It's been awhile, you thought, ruefully.

“...Thirsty?”

You almost choked on your own spit.

Snapping your head up too quick to brush off your obvious alarm from the possibility of being caught daydreaming (about the superior sat in front of you, no less), you expect to be met with a stern glare of accusation. Instead, you were met with the top of Mike's head, his full, seemingly undivided attention on his report. 

Perhaps you just imagined it.

“Apologies, sir, what was that?” You sheepishly asked, clearing your throat and sitting up straighter in your seat. 

“Sorry, didn't mean to startle you there,” he chuckled humourously. You caught the green of his eyes beneath the shadows of his lashes as he looked up at you. “Are you thirsty?” He repeated. “Was thinking we could have a pot of tea whilst we finish up.” 

Securing his quill in its holder, you observed him as he rolled his broad shoulders back a few times, assumedly working the stiffness out of the muscle. He stood somewhat languidly, stretching out his long, muscled arms and folding his elbows under them alternately, the pops of his joints audible over the sound of the blood still rushing through your ears. You then found yourself blessing the lack of light of the room, cheeks heating up at noticing his untucked shirt riding up ever so slightly to show the taut, toned muscles of his lower stomach as he stretched.

“Oh, uh, that's not necessary, Sir,” you all but stammer out, having realised you were just unashamedly checking out your superior officer who also happened to be a man who was almost twice your age.

Not that it showed. 

“Not at all,” he sighed, picking up the jacket slung over the back on his chair and pulling it over his arms. “Why don't you walk with me? Stretch your legs a little.”

Repressing a yawn, you reply with a “yes, Sir” before standing, draping your blanket over the chair and pushing it up against the desk. The pins and needles in your lower legs mean you more hobble over to the door to join Mike, rather than walk. 

As the two of you leave the comfortable warmth of Mike's office and enter the corridor, you immediately notice the cold draughts bleeding through the cracks of the bricks, and regret not bringing your blanket. In an attempt to retain the feeling in your fingers, you stretch the cuffs of your sweater sleeves over your hands and cross your arms, muttering a “brrr”. 

Mike leads you to the Scouts' small but practical kitchen, located down a single flight of stairs and (unfortunately) through the courtyard. You're almost jogging to keep up with Mike's long strides as you clench your jaw closed tight to stop your teeth from chattering. Giving a quick glance around at the windows of the Scouts HQ, you notice most of the rooms’ lights are out, given that it was well past curfew. You briefly doubted how many of those rooms’ inhabitants were actually able to sleep, though, considering the bitter cold. 

This year's winter had seemed to go on forever. Since last month, Scouting expeditions had been postponed; the ice, frost and snow deemed the conditions to be too dangerous, and unpredictable weather meant it was too difficult to plan ahead. Not to mention having to set up camp and sleep in below freezing temperatures could lead to unnecessary casualties. Missions were due to commence at the beginning of March in a mere 3 weeks time. 

There was a lot of preparation to be done in that time - from formation plans to the ordering of new supplies - and the eagerness to get back in the field was rife. Despite the life of a Scout being notoriously dangerous, slaying Titans and reconnaissance beyond the walls is what the people here signed up to do, and having not been able to do those things had left most excited - in a weird sort of way - to get back out there, yourself included. 

As you and Mike reach the end of the courtyard, you almost collide with Mike's broad back, too lost in your daydreaming to notice he'd stopped to unlock the main door leading into the East corridor. You quickly stepped inside after him, now appreciating the meagre yet welcoming warmth the castle provided after being outside. Mike closed and locked the door behind you both before continuing towards the Mess Hall which was most often left unbarred.

The two of you entered the Mess Hall, deserted since curfew, and weaved your way between the benches and tables to reach the canteen and kitchen on the opposite side. Finding that unlocked too, you let yourselves in, and as Mike went to light the stove and prepare the water in the pot to boil, you awkwardly stood unsure of whether to offer your assistance or take a seat at the workbench and wait. You opted to taking out two mugs from one of the cupboards, and after checking that they were clean, setting them on a tray ready to take back with you. Deciding that you were in fact a little bit peckish as well, you began searching the worktops for any leftovers you may be able to take without anyone noticing or getting upset. 

After finding a pack of already opened and slightly staling crackers on one of the shelves in the pantry, as well as a small wedge of cheese which looked like it had definitely seen better, fresher days, you decided that they would suffice, and brought them out to ask for Mike's approval.

"Do you think anyone would mind if we ate these?" You say, close to a whisper. You were sure there was no one else awake on this wing of the castle but a Squad Leader and their subordinate getting caught rummaging around in the kitchen for a midnight snack probably wouldn't give you the best reputation. 

Presenting the crackers and cheese to Mike, he takes them from you, giving them a brief sniff before saying that it would be fine for you to take them. You trust that as he didn't recoil in disgust that meant that the cheese must still be in edible condition, and your belly rumbled in anticipation at having a bite to eat before bed. 

Taking the food over to the work bench, you begin thinly slicing the cheese and placing it over the crackers, helping yourself to the small pieces that crumble onto the cutting board. Whilst doing so, part of you feels like Mike is watching you, the muscles of your back tingling in apprehension as if he may suddenly speak up and startle you at any moment. After finishing preparing the crackers, placing them on a plate on your tray with the two mugs, you turn to look at him, only to find his gaze is in fact trained on you. 

You almost flinch in surprise, but manage to keep yourself composed and instead nonchalantly lean back against the workbench, diverting your attention behind Mike's wide shoulders and folded arms to the kettle now beginning to steam on the stove. You stayed like that for several moments, watching the slim tendrils of steam that had begun to rise from the spout of the kettle, trying your hardest to ignore Mike's intense staring from your peripheral. 

Chancing a glance up at him - surely he still can't be staring at you - and feel your cheeks light up in flames as your eyes meet his. Not that you minded his attention, it's just that Mike has a way of staring at people that seemed so profound. He didn't just look at you, it felt like he was analysing every aspect of your being. 

You looked away from him, suddenly finding your shoes and the floorboards around them very interesting. "Sir, is there a problem?" You shift around uncomfortably as you stammer the question, playing with a loose thread on the cuff of your sweater sleeve. Were you in trouble? Was he figuring out the best way to reprimand you for something? Wouldn't he have done that already though, if that's the case? He had plenty of opportunity to bring something up whilst you were working on the reports all evening. 

After what feels like hours, he finally responds. 

"You seem…" he pauses to take a long, deep inhale through his nose "distracted. If there's something on your mind, you can tell me." The tone of his voice sounds so sincere, so genuine, it makes your insides do somersaults, and butterflies ripple around your ribcage. How are you supposed to answer that? The reason you have been distracted from your work lately is because you're developing feelings for the man stood in front of you; a man you couldn't have. And it wasn't like you could just tell him that - it could ruin everything; your rank, his rank, the friendship you shared - far too much was at stake in this job, especially to sacrifice for a silly little crush. 

You fold your hands behind you and let out a long sigh. Leaning back against the cushion of your folded hands between your tailbone and the edge of the worktop, you stare at the grooves created by the woodgrain of the floorboards. Maybe you can tell him what's on your mind without _really_ telling him?

Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you look up at the ceiling, mentally noting the few cobwebs that have begun to form between the wooden beams. The whispering shrill from the kettle seems almost deafening in the silence surrounding the two of you, and it's just adds to your tension.

"Well, there's…" You breathe in deeply. _Are you really doing this?_

"There's someone that…" Chewing on the inside of your cheeks, feeling your whole face ablaze with embarrassment. For some reason, your eyes flit up to Mike's face and you make eye contain for a fraction of a moment. It was enough to discover that he's still giving you that intense, calculated stare. 

_Oh, fuck, you really shouldn't have said anything. Your palms are sweaty and fuck fuck fuck he can probably smell the anxiety on you and shit what if he can tell that you're lying fuck fucking fuck_

The whistling of the kettle and the steam emanating from its spout along with your burning cheeks make the room feel suddenly suffocatingly warm and small. Your heart rate is so fast that you're certain it would be audible if not for the screaming of the tea kettle. You almost feel grateful. 

Somewhere in the kettle's loud chorus a chuckle meets your ears. Whipping your head up towards Mike you find him grinning, and you're sure your stomach drops so low you have to look at the floor to check it's not flopped out of your body.

"I get it," he says, grinning with absolute mirth. "There's someone that you're interested in, right?" His green eyes twinkle teasingly at you, and you have to work to swallow the lump that's formed in your throat. 

"How could you tell?" You ask, watching the hypnotic pattern of steam tendrils rising from the kettle behind Mike's left shoulder, attempting to focus on something other than the thrumming of your pulse in your ears, unable to look him directly in the eyes.

He inhales deeply several times before he replies; "oh, it's just a guess." Bringing an index finger to his face, he scratches at his moustache, that same playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Anyone who I know?" He asks curiously, looking at you through his eyelashes in a way you can only call mischievously. 

Deciding to go along with his...well, whatever this was - teasing, you supposed - you wiggle your fingers and crack the joints of a few of them in your anxiousness. "I think so," you reply, trying to keep your tone level and the smile off your face that's threatening to crack across your face; bubbling behind your teeth. "He's - uh - he's in the Scouts." You clear your throat to try and hide the stutter, briefly wondering if you should've said "she" instead, just to mislead him that bit more.

"Are you friends?" He inquires, a thin brow disappearing up into the bronze strands curling across his forehead. You nod your head sharply in response, not trusting your voice this time.

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Mike tucks his - presumably chilly - hands under his armpits, and you have to force yourself not to drool at the sight of his biceps bulging under the fabric of his jacket. "Have you told them?" 

You swear your cheeks can't possibly get any hotter than they are already. 

"It's uh...not that easy, sir," you mutter, cupping your cheeks with your cold, clammy palms in an attempt to stifle their flames. He stays silent, so you glance up at him to find he's just looking at you with a brow piqued in query. "I don't think he sees me in that way…" you trail off, looking somewhere off into the corner of the room feeling melancholic all at once.

Mike doesn't reply. After a few moments he turns around to the kettle that's now bubbling furiously, threatening to launch itself off the stove. He pours the steaming water into a teapot filled with enough leaves for the both of you. His back is to you, so you take the opportunity to gather a few deep breaths and will yourself to relax. 

Now that you think about it, you did feel a little better for getting that off of your chest. Sure you hadn't actually expressed that you had feelings for him specifically, but at least it was out there. 

Whilst you were preoccupied zoning out, Mike has turned around, holding the tea kettle handle with an oven mit, and moves to place it on the tray behind you. He stands in front of you, mere inches separating your face from his chest, and places the kettle onto the tray so casually, so calmly, you can't fathom how he can remain so stoic while being so close to his subordinate. 

You can pick up the gentlest smell of cologne - or something of the sort, you're not sure if Mike was really the type to indulge in such luxuries as fragrances - from his jacket lapel that's hovering under your nose. It's a delicate earthy scent that reminds you of crackling fires and moss and trees after rain; it seems to fill you up entirely and makes you feel both light-headed and heavy simultaneously. 

As soon as he was there, he was gone again, picking up the tray with your late night goodies and already heading for the door. You're all too quickly reminded of how cold it actually is, now you're no longer enveloped in the warmth from both the kettle's steam and Mike's body next to yours. Goose flesh covers the skin of your arms under your jumper, and you visibly shiver as you move to follow behind Mike's long strides.

It seems that the journey back to Mike's office is much quicker than to trek to the kitchens, and a part of you welcomes the distraction of going back to the meticulous mundanity of reports and paperwork.

Settling yourself back in your chair and discarded blanket - which still has remnants of your warmth clinging to its fibers - a feeling of contentment washes over your being. It's bleak and cold outside, the harsh wind rattling the windows in their panes, but here, inside your friend and superior's office, there's seemingly a curtain of familiar comfort. 

Mike pours you each a mug of tea, and you eagerly accept yours from his outstretched, offering hand. The heat from the china soaks into your chilled bones and joints, and you take a moment to just be. 

The rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall further lulls you into a state of easy peace. The corners of your mouth tug into a smile as you absentmindedly watch Mike tuck into a cracker, a few stray crumbs catching on the hair above his top lip as he eats and reads over the papers in front of him.

You think to yourself; this is enough. For now, at least, this is enough. 


End file.
